


The Eater of Dreams

by Halo_Reznor



Category: How To Destroy Angels (Band), Labyrinth (1986), Nine Inch Nails (Band)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Possible Lovers, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Goblins, Kidnapping, Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence isn't super explicit at first
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:15:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28121499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halo_Reznor/pseuds/Halo_Reznor
Summary: On a dark night, a child is kidnapped by a goblin to be made a slave - only to be taken under the wing of the Goblin King himself.Years later, Mariqueen is accidentally wished away to the goblins by her fantasy-obsessed boyfriend. When he refuses his chance to save her, she takes up the new Goblin King's challenge: get through a sprawling labyrinth, and reach the castle beyond the Goblin City, all within thirteen hours, or else she will become a goblin herself. As her journey goes on however, it becomes increasingly clear that things aren't quite right... And that there is something wrong with the both the labyrinth and the new king.
Relationships: Mariqueen Maandig/Trent Reznor, Minor Mariqueen Maandig/Original Male Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	The Eater of Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here goes nothing...
> 
> This idea originally started out as a straight-up AU retelling of "Labyrinth", but with Mariqueen and Trent in Sarah and Jareth's respective places. But as I thought about it, I decided it seemed weird for Trent, someone who was not only heavily influenced by David Bowie but also considered him a friend, to not actually interact with a character *played* by Bowie. Then things started to spin out of control, and, well, this is story is the result.
> 
> I'd like to apologize in advance, as while I know how the story is going to generally go (including the ending), mostly I'm just making shit up as I go along. I would also like to apologize if I get any details wrong in regards to "Labyrinth" canon and to the people involved (outside of making some of them non-human, of course).
> 
> DISCLAIMER 1: "Labyrinth" and all related characters, elements, and settings belong to the Jim Henson Company.  
> DISCLAIMER 2: This is a work of fiction. The events in this story never occurred, and the characters involved are not an accurate reflection of the individuals presented therein.

**Autumn, 1974**

Under moonlight and hidden between the many rows of corn, clad in a tattered beige cloak, a shadowy figure scurried about in the night. He had arrived in this realm a few days before, scouting out any humans that he knew would fetch high prices.

When he finally exited the fields’ cover, he saw his exact destination: the backyard of an aging, quiet house. From what little he saw of the area, there was nothing special about the house, and its style was typical of a farm-heavy area. But he knew that this house contained exactly what – or rather who – he needed.

The figure climbed over the wooden fence, and softly walked through the backyard, until he reached a tree that offered him sufficient camouflage. Taking a seat on the grass, he reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a golden pan flute. He placed a shovel that he had stolen from a nearby farm next to him against the tree (he had been told that some potential slaves were more violence-prone than others, so he should have a blunt object nearby). Now, all he had to do was play some music and wait.

If things went as planned, they would be gone before dawn even broke – both the cloaked figure, and the young child that lived in that house.

* * *

The nine-year-old boy sat at the piano, focusing on the small keys lying in front of him. On top of the piano was a metronome constantly clicking to assure that he was playing in time. The scent of cooked meat and vegetables from dinner was fading from the air, while his grandparents were in the kitchen finishing up the dishes. He did what he could to ignore the clanking those dishes made, and instead on the song that his teacher had told him to practice this week.

As he continued playing, he suddenly heard a strange, barely audible sound in his ear. Caught off guard, he stopped playing. Without the piano, the sound - a flute? - became clearer, like it was in the same room as him. Where was it coming from? The TV and the radio were off, there wasn’t a record playing at the moment, he was fairly sure that neither of his grandparents even played the flute, so it couldn’t have been them.

He had to admit that despite not knowing where it was coming from, it was far from an unpleasant sound. It had a slow melody that sounded almost sad to him, like it was calling out to someone. As the song played on, everything else had faded into the background of his mind; he didn’t hear his grandparents washing dishes, or the metronome clicking away. The idea of getting back to the piano didn’t even cross his mind. Why would he need with the flute playing? It was as if everything except for him and that beautiful sound had disappeared. Just the flute and its hypnotic, sorrowful song as his muscles went limp and his eyes grew heavier and heavier-

“Trent, what are you doing?”

Trent - the young boy - blinked at the sound of his grandmother’s voice. The flute, wherever it was, had stopped. He was no longer sitting at the piano, but standing right at the front door, hand hovering in front of the knob. His eyes widened; he had no memory of leaving the piano, let alone going to the door. Quickly he pulled his hand away and turned around to face both his grandparents, who looked at him with confusion. The metronome was still going.

“I… I was stretching,” He lied. “I got tired of sitting.” He didn’t want his grandparents to be worried about him, even if he had no idea what had just happened. While both their brows remained furrowed at first, they eased up when he asked “Um, can I stop for tonight?”

His grandfather shrugged. “If your grandmother says so.”

“Well, it has been long enough,” His grandmother replied as she went over and turned off the metronome. “You finished your homework, right?” Trent nodded. “Well, the TV listings did say there was a new _Six Million Man_ tonight…”

Without another word, Trent excitedly sprinted over to the TV, turned it on, and switched it to the correct channel. He soon completely forgot about the incident after getting lost in the latest exploits of Steve Austin, all while sitting comfortably between his grandparents on the couch.

In a fair world, Trent would wake up in his bed the next morning as usual. He would have breakfast and talk with his grandparents before going to school. An ordinary day, followed by another ordinary day, in a seemingly never-ending string of ordinary days.

But of course, Trent lived in a world that was terribly, terribly unfair.

* * *

_He was drowning in dark, ink-like water. His lungs were filling up much too quickly, and the surface was far too away for him to reach in time. There was something tugging at his legs, dragging him down deeper down into the blackness. His chest felt like it was going to tear apart from the inside._

_As his consciousness began to fade, he felt something from above take his hand…_

* * *

Trent awoke with his face in grass.

And he could taste the grass blades in his mouth. “Plegh!” He pushed himself into a sitting position and spat it out in disgust. Cold breeze caressing his face, his head shot left to right in confusion. To his mild relief he was only in the backyard of his grandparents’ house, and it was nearly pitch-black outside of the moonlight. He stood up as quickly as he could, which wasn’t much considering his groggy and admittedly confused state.

‘How did...’ His mind raced as he tried to figure out what happened ‘When did I get out here?’ Last he remembered, he was in bed after brushing his teeth and putting on his pajamas, and then slowly drifted off to sleep. It reminded him of when he was little, falling asleep either on the couch watching a movie on TV or in the car after a long drive, only to wake up the next morning in his bed. But at least in those cases he knew that it was an adult that did that. Who would drag him _out_ of bed and just leave him outside?

In the moonlight, he could still make out the back porch and the still opened door. Confused as he was, he was simply too tired to process it all, and it was cold and dark and there was a weird shadow under the tree-

Wait a minute.

‘Shadow under the tree?’

Trent took another look back at the tree, rooted near the left lower window of the house. He didn’t notice it at first but looking back there was a strange shape standing much too still. As he stared at it, what looked to be its head tilted slightly. All the hairs on his neck stood up. The shape began moving towards him, and his heart began to hammer inside his chest.

Swallowing hard, he was about to bolt up the porch steps when another note from a flute hit his ears. He jumped, then – against his better judgment – turned around. Out of the shadows and into the moonlight, was a lanky cloaked figure who was a head taller than him, a rounded nose with a large wart, yellow eyes, and green skin. Trent took immediate notice of the pan flute in his dry, thin hands.

“My,” The green man (though Trent was sure that he wasn’t human) drawled. “You had quite the trip while walking down those steps, boy child.”

Trent said nothing, only staring at the man.

The green man walked closer, his overly chapped lips twisting into a grin with missing teeth. "Well, you like my music, yes boy child?" His oily voice made Trent’s eyes twitch. “I thought you might, yes.”

"Um," Trent fumbled his words. "Yeah, I liked it, I guess." Slowly, he took a step backwards in the hopes that the green man wouldn’t notice.

"Would you like to hear more?" He grinned even wider - Trent imagined that if he grinned beyond anymore, his mouth would start to tear at the corners.

Trent shook his head nervously. He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. "I uh, need to go to bed now. My grandparents will be-"

"Oh, but just a quick tune, boy child! You must like my music, that’s why you came out in the dead of night, just to hear me play, yes!"

"Yeah," Trent persisted. "But I'm done listening, and I need to go to bed." He straightened his back to appear ‘tougher’ than he was – which for a small child, wasn’t much.

"How about if I play something like this…" The ugly figure put the flute to his lips and began to blow.

Before a single note could be played, Trent rushed forward and forced the flute from the green man’s hand with all the strength he could muster, then bolted up the porch steps. His heart was pounding loudly in his ears as he nearly crossed the open door, and then he would run the stairs and get his grandparents and…

_CLANK!_

Something hard struck him right on the head, and just as everything went completely black, he felt a tightness around his wrist.

* * *

The night was late in the goblin castle, and Jareth sat on his throne out of his skull. Despite being the king of an entire race of fae and the master of a vast labyrinth, he still ran into the problem of sometimes having a day that was almost uneventful. There was no one selfishly wishing a child away to him, no one trying to get through labyrinth, and though the goblins were annoying as usual, they weren’t _notably_ annoying.

The only thing that _wasn't_ ordinary that happened that day was when an old and gray seer woman had approached the gates of the castle asking for him. Jareth – who very rarely believed seers – decided to try and get _some_ sort of entertainment and allowed her inside where, for a small fee, she told him his future.

“O King…” She droned. “I see in your future, sooner than you think… An heir of your own!”

That made Jareth arch his brow at the old hag, but he let her continue.

“You do not believe me, but oh you will have one!” She insisted. “I see him clearly… a small child, reddish-brown hair, green eyed, and…" She paused. "His… hand is… Metal?" Not even _she_ was convinced of her own ‘prediction’.

Presently, he thought back to her. Of course, Jareth didn’t believe a single word she said. He didn’t _need_ an heir, and why would he even want one? If he did, they would either be biding their time until he was on his deathbed, or they would eventually get impatient and do the job themselves. And he certainly didn’t want a child around his castle for longer than he needed; children were for holding hostages with threats of being turned into goblins because their guardians were too careless. And what did she mean by his supposed heir having a metal hand?

No, the Goblin King would _not_ be taking an heir any time soon, thank you very much.

He stood up from his throne and stretched his legs; no point in staying awake any later with nothing going on. Might as well turn in for the ni-

There were footsteps outside the throne room.

“Just come in, whoever you are,” Jareth commanded while stifling a yarn, more tired than he thought. “Better have a good reason to keep me from my bed chambers while you’re at it.”

On cue, a long-limbed goblin in a worn cloak entered carrying a heavy sack over his shoulders. He gave the king a smile before setting the sack down on the floor. The goblin bowed. “O great Goblin King Jareth! I come presenting something just for you, yes!”

Jareth placed his hands on his hips and tapped his foot impatiently. “You better not be trying to tell me my future,” He grumbled. “Had my daily quota for that filled earlier.”

The goblin, still smiling, shook his head. “No, but something more valuable for you! Allow me to open the sack, yes?”

The king only shrugged, which the goblin took as approval. He untied the sack and poured its contents onto the ground. To Jareth’s surprise and slight confusion, what fell was a human child with russet-colored hair wearing what he assumed were pajamas. But what surprised him more was something that had fallen out with the child: a golden pan flute. One that looked awfully familiar to him.

“Oh, you stupid, stupid thing…” Jareth sneered at the goblin before roughly grabbing him by the shirt. “Of all the places you could have tried to do this…”

He remembered it clearly. It was less than a year before, when a group of thieves had broken into the castle and somehow managed to get inside Jareth's personal vault of the many artifacts he had accumulated during his time as king. The thieves were quickly arrested of course - except for one who managed to get away with an enchanted flute. Fortunately, the rest of his gang were all too willing to give as much info about him as possible if it meant walking free.

That thief and the flute had gone unfound all that time, however. At least until that very moment, right in the throne room.

"What was it that your 'friends' called you… Grimfidget, was it?"

The goblin sneered. “That's _Greenfingers_ , you dumb-” His face fell when he remembered who he was talking to. “I’m so sorry, your highness! I didn’t mean to-“

“And what, pray tell, are you trying to do with this human child?”

Sweat was rolling down Greenfingers’ forehead. “Your highness, certainly you would like a human slave, yes?” He halfheartedly gestured at the boy. “He’s young, healthy, and I can assure you that he is worth every penny to have by your side, especially when he wears a bracelet with an cur-“

The Goblin King stopped him before he could g on. "You really _are_ an idiot, you know that?" He turned his to the room's entrance. “Guards!” Quickly, several goblin guards of varying shape and size marched into the room, weapons at the ready. He motioned his free hand to Greenfingers, “Dungeon. _Now_. I will take care of him in the morning.” The second he let go of Greenfingers' shirt, two guards grabbed the thief's shoulders.

Greenfingers paled, and just as another guard appeared with handcuffs. "No!" Greenfingers shouted before shoving the guards off him. Just as they tried to grab him again, he grinned at Jareth and snapped his fingers - then disappeared into thin air.

Jareth and the guards stared at space Greenfingers once stood. Well, that at least explained how he was able to evade punishment for so long. The king put his hand against his face, annoyed and tired. "Tomorrow morning, make new wanted posters - and then comb the city for him." He uncovered his face and shot a displeased look at the guards. "And I want _no_ escapes from him this time, you hear me?"

As the guards began emptying the throne room, a stocky armor-clad goblin approached Jareth. “My king, what shall we do with the human child?” He asked.

“Will you turn him into a goblin?” Another guard asked gruffly. “Would be nice to see some new faces around here.”

Jareth glanced down at the still unconscious boy. “He wasn’t brought here because he was wished away,” He stated. “He’s only here because someone tried to make him a slave. No, he'll be going back to wherever it was he came from in the first place." With a wave of his hand, the boy disappeared from his sight.

Or at least, he _should_ have been gone from his sight.

No, the boy was still on the castle floor, unmoving aside from his breathing. Jareth rolled his eyes and repeated the action. Again, the boy was still there. "Oh, for the love of-" He growled before stopping himself. At that moment he caught a glimpse of something around the boy’s right wrist, something that he realized Greenfingers must have put on him before showing him off. He took a closer look at it.

It was a gray metal bracelet with a rune engraved in it.

* * *

The back of his head ached from the tender bruise forming. Something tight and cold circled around his wrist.

Trent shot straight up. He was neither in his bedroom or out in the backyard. Right now, he was… He wasn't sure exactly. It was a room (obviously), with brick walls, a wardrobe and mirror to his left, and a large open window to his right that revealed a medieval-like city. Slowly, he climbed out of the bed and placed his feet onto the chilly stone floor.

Picking up the pace a little, he went directly to the window and poked his head outside, breathing in the fresh air and spotting a strange wall structure around the city. Pulling back, he was reminded of the thing around his wrist and, for the first time, looked down at it.

Staring up at him on his wrist was a gray bracelet made of some kind of metal, no more than two inches long. Hesitating at first, he traced his fingers along it, then frowned when he found that there didn’t seem to be any way to remove it. He didn't even have a clue of how it got on him in the first place. With an annoyed grunt, Trent attempted to slide the bracelet off his wrist, but still it wouldn’t even budge away from his skin.

“You won't be able to take it off,” A voice from behind him said.

Trent jumped and turned around, taking his hand away from the bracelet. Leaning against the foot board of the bed was a man with a slender build dressed in black tights and a frilly shirt, with wild blond hair sticking out everywhere. Trent couldn’t remember if he had ever seen anyone dressed like him or had their hair like that, at least not where he was from. The man had briefly looked at him oddly, but then composed himself just as soon. He pointed at Trent’s wrist, “That bracelet, I mean. It’s not designed to be taken off, only to be put on.”

“Who are you?” Trent ignored what he had said, worriedly touching the bracelet. “Where am I?”

“The castle beyond the Goblin City,” The man spoke. “And you are speaking to its king, Jareth.” He gestured to himself.

Trent swallowed. “Why am I-“

The king interrupted him. “You were kidnapped by a goblin that stole from me and planned on selling you into slavery.”

The child’s eyes widened in horror.

“Don't worry, of course I’m not making you into a slave! I have no love for slavery," Jareth assured. Trent sighed in relief, feeling like he was holding his breath in for far too long.

“On the subject of that thing around your wrist however,” The blond man stepped away from the footboard and towards Trent. “That bracelet has an enchantment over it. You know what an enchantment is, right?"

Shrugging, Trent answered, "A magic spell, right?"

Jareth nodded. "Correct. Do you see that marking on the bracelet, the circle with the line inside?" The boy looked closer at the bracelet. "That is the rune that enchants the bracelet."

"What does it do?" He asked curiously.

Jareth put his hands to his hips and shook his head. "It's used to keep human slaves from returning to their realm."

Trent felt the color drain from his face. Suddenly he felt a giant weight over his shoulders. "C- can't you take it off-"

The Goblin King held his index finger up. "Now before you turn into a blabbering mess, there is a way to get that off of you. We just need to find the goblin that kidnapped you, Greenfingers. Only the one that casted the enchantment can remove it, not I or anyone else."

The boy had gone silent, staring at the floor. Jareth rolled his eyes, but bent over a little to be closer to eye-level with the small boy. "Now listen here... er, what is your name, child?"

After a moment, he replied with a small "...Trent."

"Trent," The Goblin King echoed. "We _will_ find your kidnapper and get that bracelet off of you. And with someone as idiotic as he is, it shouldn't be to hard. Do you understand?"

Trent looked up at him and nodded. There was something in his green eyes that caught Jareth's attention - there was sadness, yes, but there also seemed to be a bit of anger in there. He ignored it for now.

“Good, now stop wallowing in your own misery and follow me,” He motion towards the door. "I suppose you must be starving..."

Unknown to Trent as they walked to the castle's dining hall, Jareth was wondering if that seer’s prediction was true – was this child truly his heir? He certainly fit the description outside of the 'metal hand' - perhaps the hag was terribly mistaken - but he still had neither use or need for an heir. Right now however, he was stuck with the boy either way. Finding Greenfingers shouldn't be too hard if he was dumb enough to return to the castle that he had robbed, and approached the king of that castle at that. He was rather confidant that the child would be returning home in no time.

Unknown to either Trent or Jareth, the boy’s grandparents made a frantic phone call to the police that night, reporting that their grandson went missing in the night.


End file.
